“Your legend says you’re a man of privilege,” Andi responded.
I scoffed. “Legends are just stories designed to make the teller feel important. They aren’t the truth. I’ve led a life no easier or harder than most.”
She pursed her lips. “War, death, pain? I wouldn’t say yours was no harder than most people’s.”
I was uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was taking but was saved from having to reply by the sound of my phone. Justine was calling.
“Keep watch,” I said to Andi, gesturing to the house as I got to my feet and stepped through an archway into a seating area at the back of the pub.
“Justine,” I said as I answered. “How are you?”
“Tired,” she replied. “But okay. Where are you?”
“In a pub,” I said. “We’re following a lead.”
“We?”
“Andi Harris. She’s a detective from the London office with good local knowledge.”
“What’s the lead?” Justine asked.
“A member of the Dark Fates who was arrested here a few weeks ago. We’re watching his place.”
“The Dark Fates... they’re in Dublin?”
“Yes,” I replied. “They’ve been getting into street crime locally.”
“I thought we were done with all this after Monaco,” Justine sighed.
“We were done with them,” I said. “They weren’t done with us.”
She was silent for a moment.
“I don’t want to go through this again,” she said at last.
“You won’t,” I assured her. “It ends here.”
“I love you, Jack,” she replied.
“Love you too.”
“I’ll check in later,” she said. “I better go now. The doctor is here.”
“Keep me posted on what they say,” I responded. “And make sure you rest.”
“I will,” she said before hanging up.
I turned to see Andi standing in the archway.
“Come on,” she said, and I followed her back to our table to see an unmarked white Mercedes van parked outside of number three.
The green front door opened and a man appeared in the doorway. He had straw-blond hair and a face that looked to have been set in a fierce scowl since birth. His skin was pasty, padded out by debauchery.
“It’s him,” Andi said, showing me the mugshot taken after Joe McGee’s arrest. Conor had emailed it to her.
Joe closed the front door behind him and hurried through his tiny front yard to the waiting van. As he opened the passenger door and jumped inside, I started for the exit.
“Come on,” I said to Andi. “We need to follow him.”
Chapter 24
We jogged away from the pub along Bessborough Avenue and reached our Ford SUV as the van took a right at the end of the street. Andi jumped behind the wheel and I climbed in beside her. She gunned the engine and slid the car in drive, before pulling out and speeding to follow the van.
“Right,” I said, and she swung the wheel and took the turn at speed, pressing me against my armrest.
We straightened up on a main road that was lined with rundown stores and homes. A funeral parlor, a place that advertised beds, but which had its graffiti-covered security shutters locked up tight, a wig and toupée emporium, along with other odd businesses that survived at the margins of society.
We saw the Mercedes van as a brief flash of white, racing beneath a steel railway bridge in the distance. Andi stepped on the gas and closed the gap. Within seconds, we were no more than thirty meters behind, trailing the vehicle over every bump and pothole in the road. I used my phone to take photos of the van and its license plate.
We came to a major intersection by Annesley Bridge and took a right along the river. A park fronted the other bank, and to our right were small terrace houses painted shades of gray, blue and cream. We kept going south-east until we reached the port area and then followed the van through the Dublin Port Tunnel toll booths and into the mouth of a two-lane subterranean highway that would take us beneath the northern suburbs of the city.
Andi drove expertly, using buses and trucks to keep our pursuit concealed. She allowed other vehicles between us and the van as we sped through the busy tunnel. When we finally emerged, we joined the M1, heading north. We passed the airport and were soon in open countryside, speeding along a highway flanked by tall trees whose branches were thick with leaves.
We drove like this for more than half an hour, passing Lusk, a town to the north of Dublin. The further we went, the lighter the traffic became, making subterfuge difficult, so Andi simply kept her distance, allowing the van to slip to the very edge of our safe field, the point at which we could be reasonably certain we wouldn’t lose it.
After another twenty minutes, we saw it leave the motorway. The sun was kissing the tops of the trees, bathing everything in a rose-gold light, and as we came off the highway and followed the van over a bridge, I caught a glimpse of the Irish landscape rolling on toward Dublin. For a moment I almost forgot all the dark reasons that had brought me to this place, too busy admiring one of the most beautiful expanses of lush countryside I’d ever seen.
“People never really leave Ireland,” Andi remarked. “You carry this country with you forever.”
I nodded and was brought back to reality by the sight of the van weaving around a roundabout and taking a turning onto a narrow country lane.
We followed for another hour, trailing it into remote countryside as darkness swept in. Andi kept her distance and used the car’s GPS map to see potential turn-offs ahead. Most of the lanes wound for miles without intersections, which allowed her to let the van run on ahead. We could be satisfied with distant glimpses of its roof over the tops of hedges. It was a masterclass in undetected pursuit.
Shadows and silhouettes replaced solid color, and the landscape took on a monochrome beauty in the moonlight.
Finally, more than two hours after we’d left the pub, the van slowed as it passed the gates to a large property. Andi killed the lights and slowed the Ford, so we were crawling as we passed the same entrance. The black-and-gold sign displayed by the gates featured a prancing horse above the words “Kearney Stud.”
In front of us, the van’s brake lights flared cherry red as it pulled into a turnout. Andi stopped some distance behind and we watched as four men, including Joe McGee, jumped out of the vehicle, pulled ski masks over their heads, and scaled the high wall that surrounded the stud farm.
“What do we do?” Andi asked.
“We keep going,” I said, unclasping my seatbelt. “We follow them.”
I stepped out of the car and headed for the high stone wall and whatever lay beyond.
Chapter 25
The ground underfoot was springy with moss. As I reached the wall, I heard Andi come up behind me.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” she whispered.
I nodded but she pursed her lips, suggesting she didn’t agree. She didn’t voice any objection though, so I clasped my hands together and held them out like a sling, offering her a boost over the wall.
She frowned and smiled dismissively before taking a short run-up, grabbing the capstones and hauling herself over.
I copied her move but scuffed my shoes and snagged my suit as I dragged myself up and over with far less elegance. I pivoted and dropped into the shadow of a large bush. I crept toward Andi, crouched by the trunk of an ancient oak tree.
She beckoned me to hurry and signaled for me to stay low.
When I joined her, I saw why. We were in a small hollow and flashlights were visible beyond a rise, moving through woodland, illuminating the otherwise ghostly trunks and branches. Now and then, I caught sight of the silhouettes of the masked men.